


This Is Not A Game Of Who The Fuck Are You

by ominousrum



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9793700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousrum/pseuds/ominousrum
Summary: Emma drummed her fingers on the dashboard in time with the music, silently cursing herself for the growing disappointment in every minute her phone laid dormant in her lap.





	

**Author's Note:**

> from lifeinahole27's prompt "Someone gave me a fake number and it's actually yours"
> 
> where my Eddie Izzard fans at?

Staking out bad guys was definitely not as entertaining as the movies would lead people to believe, Emma Swan thought ruefully as she licked the remaining doughnut sprinkles off her bottom lip. The night was cold, clear and extremely boring sitting in her car, waiting for her perp to make an appearance.

She could count the dramatic chases she’d been involved in on one hand and disappointingly none of them were anything less than horrible to her once she caught up with them. Would it kill them applaud her speed, just once?

The radio of her yellow bug was blaring The Animals so loud, she didn’t hear her phone go off until it was vibrating itself across the dash. Her brows knit into a distinct furrow when she saw the text message from an unknown number pop up.

_I do hope I get to see your beautiful face tomorrow night, love x_

A groan escaped her lips as she tried to place what could have prompted such a thing. It had been eons since she had met anyone she fancied enough to invite into her bed and she really couldn’t fathom her police partner David using the word “love”, even in jest. 

_Who is this?_

Simple and to the point. Emma reasoned any sane person would give up once they realized the person on the receiving end didn’t recognize them.

_The rather dashing scoundrel you met last night, of course ;)_

“Jesus,” she uttered. “I would have felt bad for you being given a fake number if you hadn’t just called yourself a dashing scoundrel.” Emma laughed to herself as she tore her eyes away from her phone and back to the seedy alleyway she was supposed to be watching.

Boredom felt like her brain slowly leaking out of her skull as she stared at the empty street. Her thumbs were typing a reply before her better judgement could stop her.

_Do you know who I am?_

She hit send with a sigh. It had come to this - winding up strangers via text message. She couldn’t help the giddy feeling bubbling up from her stomach as she felt the phone vibrate its announcement of a new message.

_Do you know who **I** am? _

Emma rolled her eyes as she read the response identical to hers. Alright buddy, let’s see how you like the next installment.

_This is not a game of who the fuck are you._

She let a satisfied smirk grace her lips as she took a sip from her travel coffee mug. Her eyebrows nearly arched their way off her forehead in surprise when she received the response.

_Apologies, I wasn’t aware I had reached Jeff Vader._

If nothing else, the dashing scoundrel had excellent taste in comedians.

_Impressive. Sorry you seem to have wasted your flirting on a wrong number._

Emma drummed her fingers on the dashboard in time with the music, silently cursing herself for the growing disappointment in every minute her phone laid dormant in her lap. She fought the grin on her face with a dismissive shake of her head when it buzzed to life again.

_Dare I ask who I’ve had the pleasure of reaching?_

A snort now as she tried to envision the clueless suitor, probably half hung over from the events of the previous night, overcompensating by using the most ridiculous phrasing imaginable.

_Nice try, buddy._

Her phone began vibrating before it had left her hands.

_Killian, actually._

Emma frowned as her bullshit detector didn’t throw up any red flags. It _wa_ s a pretty elaborate name to make up. Not like Brad or Mike or something easily thought up while sitting in your parent’s basement eating Taco Bell. Also it sounded Irish? English, maybe.

_Are you actually attempting to hit on a wrong number or are you just bored?_

_Bit of both, I reckon._

Emma couldn’t help her eyes immediately rolling heavenwards. He was cheeky, she’d concede that much.

_Well sorry to disappoint but I’m not interested in the outcome of either._

_Pity. I was hoping you were up to the challenge._

_Better luck next stranger._

A small frown again as Emma noted the game was likely up. Her thumb hovered over the option to delete the message thread before she decided against it and tossed the phone to the corner of the dash, sulking. Fifteen minutes since the last text and boredom was back to being a woodpecker lazily drilling into her skull. Another buzz and she pounced to retrieve her phone. 

_Can I at least know who I’ve gotten an Eddie Izzard quote out of in case our paths ever cross again?_

Emma’s eyes narrowed, studying the phone number. Local area code – check. Apart from a few bars varying in seediness levels, Storybrooke had very little night life. Where exactly did her Casanova expect to cross paths - Granny’s?

_Get used to disappointment._

_Inconceivable!_

Emma let out a small gasp of surprise. Incredulous that the man she was talking to had the audacity to bust out the holy grail of references. 

_Is this how you usually charm all your one-night stands?_

_I may be more pirate than farm boy, but I never claimed this was a one-night stand, love._

The smile her lips curled into refused to go away despite her best efforts to shoo the idea of “Killian the pirate” from her mind.

_Yet you persist in your pursuit of a no-night stand?_

_I feel we’ve made somewhat of a connection, Buttercup._

Emma was thoroughly infuriated to realize this “Killian” was right. She couldn’t remember the last time she had bothered to engage in conversation with a man she didn’t know beyond mindless small talk or drink orders.

_How do you know I don’t look like more of a Fezzik?_

_Not enough rhyming, for a start._

_Touché._

_Should I assume you’re confident in my dashing scoundrel description then, love?_

_Let’s leave the confirmation of that up to fate. If our paths ever cross._

_As you wish._

Emma decided she wouldn’t delete his number just yet, throwing her phone into her bag so as to refrain from any further texting for the remainder of the evening. 

***

 

“Hey Ems. How was your stakeout?” Ruby poured Emma a cup of coffee after relaying her order of scrambled eggs and bacon to Granny.

“Mildly entertaining.” Emma felt the same smile from last night snake across her lips. Ruby raised an eyebrow in response.

“Did you catch your man?”

“Not so much,” Emma tried to look sufficiently disappointed, hand absently fiddling with her phone. Ruby knew her well enough not to pry anything else from her until after she had made a dent in coffee number one.

Emma’s stomach was already rumbling from the mere sight her breakfast at the pass; offering Ruby a wide smile and nod of thanks as she stuffed a couple of choice strips of bacon in her mouth.

“So, get any interesting texts lately?” Ruby put on her best innocent face as Emma nearly choked.

“Ruby,” Emma scowled, cheeks flushing crimson, “what did you _do_?”

“Me? Oh nothing. Just thought you could use a little stubbly, piercing-eyed distraction.” A huge, satisfied grin and Ruby was off to her other tables.

Damnit. Stubbly was definitely her type.

Emma shot daggers at Ruby with every look as she continued to wolf down her breakfast. She scrolled through her messages, huffing a sigh as she re-read the ones from Killian.

Maybe she would help fate along. She continued scowling at Ruby as she typed out a quick text.  

_Cake or death?_

If this were a normal dating scenario, she likely wouldn’t have texted a strange man with a penchant for pop culture references at 7:46 in the morning. But this was clearly **_not_** a normal dating scenario.

_Cake, please._

_Granny’s. 6pm._

_Looking forward to it, Buttercup._


End file.
